


HOMELY

by SONICPHENG



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: 1950s, AU, Action, Adrinette, Angst, Blood and Violence, Doctor!Adrien, Drama, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hypothermia, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Murder, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, death by fire, familial death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 14:44:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11315589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SONICPHENG/pseuds/SONICPHENG
Summary: AU: Marinette has lost her best friend to a sudden fire. Becoming a homeless orphan for the second time with a cruel and vengeful past, she loses hope and gives her life to hypothermia on the snowy streets when a blonde doctor rescues her. He takes her in, and with compassion, let's her stay at his home. Little did he know he'd also be tracking in a group of fellons who painted a red X on Marinette's back. Stepping too far into the mud of Marinette's past will throw Adrien into a cruel and unsolved mystery surrounding her loved one's untimely deaths.





	HOMELY

This is what hypothermia felt like. She had heard it described to her before; drowsiness, delusional, sudden cease of shaking, losing consciousness, and terrible decision making. At least it wouldn’t have been a painful death. She’d simply fall asleep, and then never awake.   
  
Despite deserving pain.   
  
In her hands was a small, dirtied photograph. Standing beside her in the faded square was someone she held dear; a redhead with a painting smock tossed over his arm. She remembered how they were suddenly ambushed with a camera, and the two of them scrambled to look presentable for that shot.   
  
With scraped fingertips, she touched the photograph, still smelling the smoke, the burning of ashes in her eyes vivid as ever. Certainly, it could have been the tears streaking down her cheek, as well as the severe fatigue she fought momentarily while she reflected on the past.   
  
_ Drowsiness _ .   
  
“ _ My dad’s in debt, _ ” he said in her mind, “ _ my talent is all we have, so if I stop painting, everything else will. _ ” The repeated words were almost too real to be a memory.   
  
_ Delusional _ .   
  
She held the picture close to her chest with her hole-stricken gloves. Snow fluttered gently on that sidewalk. It was a cute little town--one not very known, filled with shops, boutiques and cafes. Even in a worn down slum like this, the orphan girl didn’t seem to belong. The street corner she began growing numb on smelled like fresh garbage, aware that she probably smelled no better, having to sleep next to them with no access to cleanliness.   
  
Over by her side was a stray dog, munching on the last piece of food she had received. There was no use for it--not anymore. At least those last minutes were spent with one act of kindness.   
  
A pathetically miniscule act, but still good.   
  
“Nathanaël…” The scene around her became increasingly dimmer, senses fleeting; vision failing. There was no way to tell the temperature; a fatal, yet unimportant fact.    
  
_ Losing consciousness _ .  _ Sudden cease of shaking _ .   
  
She was going to die here. Nobody would remember her, other than that dog.   
  
All of the people who would have already had their turn in passing.   
  
“I’m sorry…” With a clenching of her teeth, she took in the thought of him trapped in that burning house, probably suffering for eternity before the end. “I know you won’t forgive me for dying this way. If it means I can see you soon, you can burn me a thousand times.”   
  
“Just please, don’t be dead.” The whisper faded with her crystallized breath. Footsteps approached, but it was just another passerby. For once, she wished them to simply walk by again--leave her body for dead. Let that dog be the last token of her meaningless life.   
  
“Hey, are you alright?” But the feet stopped in front of her. She opened her heavy lids with halfway strength.   
  
‘ _ Please, leave me be. _ ’ Her lips quivered and ceased in silence.   
  
“Can you hear me?”   
  
His lowered knee came into sight, crouching over a pair of shiny shoes. It sounded like his voice, but she couldn’t tell, she wasn’t even aware of the incoherence being suffered.   
  
All she knew was a familiar old painter’s smock fluttered yonder. A warm light wrapped around, pulling her into a feeling of sleep.   
  
“You came for me…”   
  
“Take me with you.” She pleaded.   
  
It was her last wish before the world around her turned off. A number of desperate cries faded into a mute.   
  


* * *

_ “Marinette.” He smiled at me, handing me a warm cup of freshly brewed tea. It was in a dented metal cup, but something lacking so much class had class of its own, bringing a warmness I hadn't experienced in forever. _ __  
__  
_ “It’s a beautiful name.” _ __  
__  
_ I blushed, blinking up to meet his bright eyes. They suddenly widened, realizing the words just said, and instantly became flustered. “S-Sorry! I need to stop blurting things out…” _ __  
__  
_ I smiled, snuggling into the brown blanket he wrapped around me. I had awoken on a springy couch in the back of a large room filled with canvases and painting supplies. Then, this red haired boy with the old smock came in for a greeting. _ __  
__  
_ Catching my grin towards him, he inhaled as if collecting his confidence. “My name is Nathanaël. I don’t have much to offer, but if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” _ __  
__  
_ I kept my lips sealed, unsure. Remembering all that had happened to me before waking up, I gazed my eyes into the dark tea, hanging us both in silence. _ __  
__  
_ He looked over to the abandoned rag sitting beside me. Nathanaël placed a warm palm to my forehead, forcing my heart to jump. _ __  
__  
_ “You’re still really warm, and your cheeks are bright red.” The smock was removed and thrown over the side of the couch. “I’ll change your rag for you.” _ __  
_  
_ __ He wasn’t the type to pry, simply to care--observation told me this. Though it must have been painfully obvious I was suffering over something, he still attended to physical needs first. 

__  
_ I finished the tea in gratitude towards him, despite feeling terribly nauseated and lay down. After dumping the rag in a bucket of water, Nathanaël gently placed it upon my forehead, fingers stroking my cheek. _ __  
__  
_ “Get some rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.” _ __  
__  
_ I never thought I’d sleep again--not after what had happened. _ __  
__  
_ But I did. This was the beginning of the many memories we’d share together. _ __  
__  
__ If it would only never end.   
  


* * *

Something wet and soothing warmed her forehead. It was a familiar touch, but instead of it being cold, it was hot. The warmness also embraced her body, wrapped completely around.   
  
“Nathanaël…” She mumbled, opening her eyes. It was all hazy, but she started to make something out. It was a person’s face. Nathanaël?   
  
Definitely not. This person was blonde, and the eyes were green.   
  
Wait a minute.   
  
_ He _ ?   
  
“Are you awake?” He asked.   
  
She stared blankly at his face, confused with the utmost intensity.   
  
“You’re not Nathanaël.”   
  
“I’m not.” He responded casually.   
  
“Are you an angel?”   
  
“No.”   
  
“Did you die, too?”   
  
“I’m very much alive.” He smiled at her, pinching her cheek. “It’s good to see you are, too.”   
  
She was dumbfounded. Had she died and been confined to some beautiful boy’s room? No, that was impossible. Surely the afterlife wouldn’t leave her to haunt some stranger for the rest of his years.   
  
Because he was touching her and she felt it, meaning she wasn’t…   
  
… She wasn’t  _ dead _ .   
  
The boy blinked. “What’s wrong, you’ve been spacing o--”   
  
She quickly sat up, banging their foreheads together with a loud smack. They both crumbled with a groan, her on the bed, him on the floor, grasping the inflicted area.   
  
He moaned, doing his best to recollect himself. “Did you… forget that I was  _ right there _ ?” Joking in these situations was his strong point, despite the urge of sarcasm arising right then. On the bright side, it seemed she was better enough to move quickly, but not enough to process or react to the surroundings.   
  
“I’m not… dead?”   
  
“No, it’s actually a miracle you survived. Your lips were completely blue, and when I carried you your body was like--” the sound of crying cut him off. “... ice.”   
  
She lay there, arms drawn over her eyes, sobbing quietly. The deeper reality sunk in, the more uncontrolled it was. This was the last thing desire--to live was the ultimate punishment. That’s what was happening; punishment. Marinette wasn’t allowed to be happy, even with dying.   
  
He stared at her; frozen still.

**Author's Note:**

> SO I’ve been writing on Fanfiction and decided to move my fanfics over to Ao3, so I’m re-uploading my prior works to here after cleaning them up a little. I hope you enjoy them!
> 
> Stay beautiful, babes!


End file.
